


TattleTwinks.com

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Empathic sex, Implied Incest, Implied Underage, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Office Sex, Serial Killers, Sex Work, cam sex, mystery partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack pushed too hard, so Will found a new job that takes advantage of his empathic abilities and keeps him (and those around him) safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TattleTwinks.com

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by many things. [Hannibalkink prompt for cam sex](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=1886775#cmt1886775), based on a [gifset by remylane](http://remylane.tumblr.com/post/51014573575/tattletwinks-com). Also inspired by a reader's summary of a book suggested to me by Barnes and Noble, about a cam sex worker/potential serial killer. I didn't read the book (it's het), but the idea screamed for a Hannibal fic. Title from the gifset.

Will writhed, rubbing his chest as his other hand made a slow, abortive movement towards his weeping cock. "Please... Oh, please, I need..." His voice was strained, breaking, higher pitched than usual as he moved and begged and panted towards the camera.

"Tell daddy what you need, boy," a dark voice whispered through the speakers, the deep tone sending vibrations over Will's body. 

"Please, I need to come. Please, I've been so good." A tear broke over his lashes, splashing down his cheek to join the sweat coating his skin. 

There was the slick, distinctive sound of a hand moving quickly over a hard cock, popping over the head with a twist as the man got closer to his own completion. All Will could see was the pale blue highlights of the monitor's glow creating an amorphous shadow weaving in and out of frame. He didn't need to see the man's face to feel his desire, the hunger of his gaze like a strong hand gripping his arms, making him move, moan, display himself just as he wanted. A deep growl over the speakers let Will know exactly what the man wanted. 

He dropped his chin, bowing his eyes submissively as he shook and cried and begged, "Please, _daddy_ , make me come. Daddy!"

"Yeah, baby, come for daddy." The man groaned, jerked his hand and came across his keyboard. Will didn't need to see it to know; his mind was so filled with the man's pleasure that his own body reached a climax, coming without ever touching his own cock. 

He panted, his lips feeling dry and bitten, as he looked up into the camera. There was a chuckling filling the air. "You always know what daddy needs, don't you, boy?" 

"Yes, sir," Will said quietly, his voice cracking on the last word. "Thank you, daddy." 

"Good boy," the man said, then cut the connection. 

The timer by the client window flashed 19:02. Will rounded it up to the full 20 minutes, and sent the final charge through the billing window before closing the laptop. He stood and stretched, his toes digging into the carpet as he walked towards the bathroom. He used a damp cloth to clean his stomach and cock, and wrapped a towel around his waist. His next client wasn't for another hour. 

Will took a breath, lifted his head, and met the eyes of a tanned young man. His blond hair was like dandelion fluff in the wind, wild from rolling on the carpet in front of the camera. His light blue eyes crinkled a little at the corners, as though the light of the bathroom bothered them. He was tall, but gawky in that strange, still-growing stage of adolescence. 

In a few years, he'd look just like his father. 

Will took another breath, focusing on the eyes, watching as the color drained, darkened. His heartbeat was loud, rushing like soldiers marching. The room became dim, a black-and-white woodcut print running in reverse, the ink flying away from the page until reality broke through. Slowly, he came back to awareness of his body, feeling his strong arms, and bones that had quit growing over a decade ago. When he blinked, he was suddenly meeting his own reflection in the mirror. 

His skin was pale, his eyes dark, and his curls could never be mistaken for blond. Will shuddered, feeling the last of the illusion melting from his mind. He leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain until he was sure he could stand. Then he wrapped all those foreign feelings into a small package, and hid it at the corner of his mind, to be recalled when the desires of his client turned once again to his own son. 

Will could become whatever his client needed. It was what paid for his apartment, for his food. It was what made him a perfect whore. It was what he did to keep himself as close to sane as he could be.

He'd rather deal with a man's honest lust, than slip into the mind of another killer. 

*********

Jack had pushed him hard, knowing exactly what to say in the same ways that Will always knew exactly what happened at crime scenes. Their own special gifts collided to eat each other alive. When the bodies stacked up, the killers became more gruesome, the brutality never-ending... When Will wasn't sure where the killers ended and he began, that was when he finally knew he had to get out of there, or become another monster. 

He found new homes for his canine family, ensuring their safety even as the murderers in his head called for their blood. 

He bolted the doors, barred the windows. He tied himself to his bed at night to keep from wandering. Finally, he locked the door from the inside, slipping the key through the mail slot and begging, BEGGING Alana to never, ever let him out. 

And don't come in.

Don't ever come in. 

The monsters lived there in that tiny house with him, roaring in his ears, demanding their payment of blood and screams. Jack would come to his window to yell, and Will would howl back at him, letting every dark thing inside boil and claw and tear all that they needed until he left. Alana would slip short notes into the boxes of groceries she left at the small doggy door, letting him know that everyone was safe, everyone was alive, that no one would come inside, and finally, Will felt safe.

But his demons hungered. They clung to whatever hooks they could find, stretching their hands through the mailslot to tug at Alana's skirt, to reach for a tender sparrow. They longed for release.

It was almost obscene the way a solution presented itself. The demons crawled the internet, looking for anything to satisfy the hunger, to bring them blood. Instead, Will found a way to replace all the dark things in his head with something simpler, something that was easier to uncover and understand. 

Sex.

Will's gift was to see into another's mind, to become them completely, to feel everything they felt and let them live through his thoughts. In the FBI offices, it served only to torment him with a thousand killers. On the internet, he became the focus of a thousand desires. Some were dark, some were amusing, but they were all... safe. No death. No blood. No pain. Simple rules, and these men would just hand over their deepest desires, their barest feelings. Their lust was plain and easy to understand. The feel of a hard dick in his hand, and the splash of come on his fingers--these were easier to imagine, easier to shake off. Easier to enjoy without fear or guilt. 

So Will found a new career, one that allowed him to stay safe; allowed him to keep everyone safe. The killers in his head were pushed aside by the bright burning sexual need of hundreds of men, all with their hands in their pants and their credit cards eager to be stroked. Alana did not know where the money was coming from, but her writing was more relaxed now that a dozen serial killers weren't fighting for her attention. Will treasured her notes, but never gave her his new email address. That was for his clients, only.

************

Will enjoyed meeting with his next client. The man--they were always men, even the women who wanted him to suck their silicon phalluses were men--never turned on his own cam. He communicated through text only, outlining his desires in long, lurid detail before their appointments. It made it harder to look inside his head, but Will enjoyed the challenge, stretching his mental muscles far to become exactly what the man desired. It kept his mind nimble, his demons entertained. 

During a session, the client communicated through short sentences in the chat window, the darkness of his cam a silent mirror for Will to focus on as he worked to meet his client's needs. 

It always lasted at least 50 minutes, sometimes longer. It often began as a conversation, Will speaking to the camera as words appeared in response across the screen, slowly slipping into the perfect fantasy. He had no idea the client's real name, just the alias "Stillund Stumm." For such a foreign alias, the man's writing was impeccable; clear, polite, yet utterly filthy when needed. Each scenario was carefully crafted, as though the client spent his spare time creating a person suit for Will to wear, perfectly tailored of exquisite cloth. Something Will could shrug on and off at a whim, but cut so delicately as to make him whole once again. 

The client obviously had money, and time. Will wasn't sure where in the world he was located--the appointments were nearly always late at night according to Will's clock. Perhaps his client was a young German count, an artist of a sort, who sculpted Will into whatever his muse required. Unlike his other clients, Will could not see beyond the words to the real man. 

Sipping some instant coffee, Will eyed the email again, letting the words seep into his brain like the warmth of the coffee spread in his stomach. Tonight, the client wanted a lover, a young man once broken, but now strong, commanding and demanding to be satisfied while the client served his needs. The client would be a reserved, elegant man, eager to do whatever he can to please his lover. 

Always different, these sessions, but Will felt his mind shifting, settling into the place. He slipped a pair of glasses onto his nose, ensuring he could read every word typed by his client, and he felt himself becoming that young man. 

Snarky. Successful. Intelligent. And missing his lover after being parted for far too long. 

The client window flashed, and Will waited impatiently as the ID was checked and verified. The client's cam window remained dark, but words appeared in the chat window. 

"Good evening, Liam."

Will smiled, flashing teeth widely as he settled comfortably in front of the cam. "Good evening. I missed you." 

The reply was tart, yet warm. "Obviously. You appear to have gotten started without me."

Will touched the towel at his waist, teasingly tugging the edge to better reveal his hipbone. "Never without you." Will sighed, feeling the tug at his chest from being separated from his lover. It made his throat constrict, his voice deepen. "Why did you make me wait so long?"

"You could have gone to bed. You need to sleep, Liam."

"I'm not tired. Not yet." Will licked his lips, leaning closer to the cam. "God, I miss you."

"I missed you too. How was work today?"

Will leaned back, settling comfortably. "Not too bad," he answered honestly, yet vaguely. "It's always a little stressful, but I feel like I saved some lives today. It makes it worth it. How about you? You calling from the office?"

"My day was the same. Yes, I am still at the office. I wanted to talk to you before going home."

Will chuckled warmly. "Listen to us, like an old married couple. When did we get so boring?"

"You are never boring, Liam."

Will stretched his neck, rolled his shoulders. He rubbed at the back of his neck, ruffling the curls back there. "I wish you were here. I could use one of your amazing massages." 

"Until then, a hot bath and a glass of wine should work. Anything I can do to help right now?"

"Hop a plane and show up at my door," Will replied, a little edge in his voice. He lowered his hand from his neck, lighting running the fingers down his throat and over his chest. His skin tingled under the touch as he imagined another's hand tracing the same path. "I know, I know... for now, how about you just help me to relax. I've been thinking about you all day. Talk to me." 

"Have you been masturbating, Liam?"

"You are the worst at dirty talk," Will teased, rolling his eyes. He loosened the towel a little more, so it barely clung to his hips. A shimmy in the right direction would leave him completely exposed. "How about you? Have you been hard all day, or did you jerk off during lunch?"

"I haven't stopped thinking of you since you left. I wanted to touch myself, but I knew you would want me to save it."

"Damn right. You're all mine. Every part of you." Will felt a possessive growl grow in his throat as he thought of his lover sitting at his desk, so hard and wanting yet resisting the need to bring himself off. "C'mon, show me. Take off all your clothes."

The cam window remained blank, but Will knew his command was being followed. He waited a moment, staring into the glass eye of the camera. "No, don't bother folding them. I want you right now. Just drop them on the floor." 

"Wrinkles, Liam."

"Fuck wrinkles."

"There, are you happy?"

Will rubbed his thumb against the skin near his navel. "Ecstatic. Just... lean back a little." His mind filled in the dark window on the screen, an image of a tall man, his face hidden in shadow, leaning back in an ornate chair, displaying his body before the tiny camera. "Yes, like that. God, you're so hard."

"I'm leaking."

"Taste yourself. Tell me what it's like."

"Salty. Not as good as yours." 

Will licked his lips, imagining the taste, like an appetizer for a banquet. "You haven't jerked off all day?"

"Not since we've last talked."

It'd been days since they'd last chatted. "Fuck, you need it bad, don't you? Go on, touch yourself." His lover's hand shook as he gripped himself, another pearl appearing at the tip. "Don't--don't come yet. Go slow."

"I don't know if I can."

"I know you can. Watch me." Will tilted his hips, letting the towel fall away. He'd been hard since before they started talking, and the slow tease of the evening made it hard to breathe. He looked up at the screen, curling his fingers around his flesh and just gently stroking up his cock. When he reached the tip, he pushed down, stretching his aching dick and letting the pleasure shimmer up his spine. "Like that." 

Will didn't leak like his lover, so he brought his hand to his mouth, licking his palm to slick the next stroke. He stared deep into the screen, seeing his lover copy the move, sucking his own wetness from his fingers. "I love it when you do that. I want to see you eat your come. But not yet. Have you played with your asshole yet?"

"No."

"Turn around. Show me. Show me how tight you are right now." He squeezed behind the head of his dick, shifting his knees up and leaning his hips towards the screen. "Like this," he hissed, using his other hand to lift his balls before reaching down to circle the pucker of his anus. 

The screen seemed to be filled with the sight of the rosy hole, tightly furled. A finger rubbed against the skin, pressing against the muscle, but the resistance was too great to allow passage just yet. "You haven't been using your toys, have you? I'd have to work your asshole for hours to loosen you up, make you ready for my cock. Maybe start with my tongue." Will licked his lips, playing at the skin as he imagined the taste, the feel, of that tight hole against his mouth. He was salivating, hungry for it like he's never tasted food.

"Please."

"I love the way you open under my mouth, the way your asshole kisses back so sweetly." Will licked his palm, sucked his fingers into his mouth and brought his hand back to his ass to press just the tip inside. Just a tease, then he brought his hand back to his cock, tugging his balls as he set his feet back on the ground. 

"Please."

"You need to come?" Will tightened his grip, getting it just right, just tight enough as he imagined his lovers body swallowing him whole. "I want you to come. I want you to come all over your desk, then lick up every last spot. Can you do that for me? Come for me. Show me how much you want me."

"Always want you."

"I want you too. Come for me." Will was lost in his own pleasure, the world going white as he spilled over his fist. He closed his eyes tight, seeing his lover reach his own climax. Spurts of white across an elegant desk, and an eager tongue quick to clean away the traces. Slicked back hair out of place, falling over a pleasure-clouded eye. Will brought his hand to his mouth, tasting his own come, but finding it not as satisfying as the flavor of his lover.

He came back to his senses slowly, feeling his fingers tingle as he groped for his towel. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he smiled up at his lover. 

"I shall have to replace this shirt, dear Liam. It appears that my abstinence was overlong. It is a mess."

Will laughed, imagining come-stains on an elegant dark-blue silk shirt. "You still suck at dirty-talk."

"Maybe next time." 

"Definitely. I still expect you to put on your wrinkled suit, walk out of your office looking properly rumpled, and show the world that your lover takes good care of you, even when we're apart." Will yawned, cracking his jaw with the movement. He felt languorous after the incredible orgasm, like he could actually sleep a few hours.

"I still have some paperwork to do. But yes, I will wear it home. For you." 

"I'll be carrying that picture in my mind for weeks." He yawned again, his muscles going soft and weak in exhaustion. 

"You need to sleep, Liam." 

Will propped his hand on his chin. "I don't want to sleep. Just talk to me." 

"Shall I tell you a story?"

Will smiled, his mind floating happily as he imagined his lovers voice going soft. "I love it when you read to me." 

"Put your head down, and I will read to you."

"Okay," Will said gamely. He folded his arms in front of him, resting his cheek against his forearm, pushing his glasses askew. He could still read the words that appeared on the screen. 

"Once there was a young boy, and his little sister, wandering a haunted forest..."

*****

When Will opened his eyes sometime later, he found a screen filled with text, a full story that tapered off before the end, signed with a "Good night, dear Liam." The timecode said the story ended within 15 minutes of its start, but the timer beside the client window flashed 4:32:05. It was only the chime signaling the closing of the session that brought Will out of his sleep. 

The man had stayed on the cam for over 4 hours, even though their "session" was already over. What had he done that whole time? Watched him sleep?

Will scoffed softly. He probably forgot to close the window until it automatically timed out. For a moment, Will felt a pang of guilt that his favorite client would be overcharged, but he shook that off. The owner of the site Will worked for didn't like it when he gave customers discounts; besides, the client could dispute the charges on his own. He typed in a quick "272" in the billing window and closed out the session. He folded his glasses carefully and left them by the keyboard so he could find them in the morning.

Will stood, picking up his towel to toss into the laundry bin on his way to the bedroom. He shut down the lights in his studio--a small side room converted into a generic set, well-lit and perfect for whatever shows he was asked to perform--and escaped the soft glow of the computer screen. 

His mind was still soft, edging towards that oblivion of sleep. Everything was quiet, even the monsters inside his head. It was the closest he had ever felt to being normal, and he was reluctant to startle that feeling by taking a shower. He scratched at flakes of come on his thigh, shouldering open the door to the bedroom before collapsing into the sheets. He inhaled the sharp scent of detergent, and then he was once again blissfully asleep.

***********

Will awoke slowly, his eyes squinting against the late-morning light filtering through the curtains. He stretched, feeling little muscles pull and his fingers crack. The sheets were soft and comfortable, the bed warm. The house was filled with silence.

There were no murderers waiting for him on his porch. No Jack demanding that he look. No blood on his face. No taste of death on his tongue. Just morning breath, and a hollow sense of peace. 

It was quick work to make a simple breakfast of cereal and instant coffee. It made him feel a little more awake as the warmth spread down his throat, washing away the faintly chemical taste of come in his mouth. Vaguely, he cast around in his memories, looking to see what all had happened the day before, but things were clouded with gray mist, a fog of forgetfulness that made every day a little bit easier to deal with. Faces, names, feelings were all vaguely recalled notes in a chorus of some song he didn't care enough to chase. Will allowed himself to settle into the blankness of his morning, licking the milk from his spoon and sipping weak coffee he'd made himself.

Too soon, the peace would fade. But it was enough--these moments of normality--to keep him going. Perhaps he would scribble a note to Alana today, tell her how much he missed her. 

Perhaps he would ask her to unlock the door. 

He could invite her in, show off his studio. Perhaps they could perform together. There were clients who would like that. He could introduce her to his fans, the people who paid to watch him jack off, or fuck himself on toys he bought online. He could show her what was in those deliveries she brought, those nondescript packages she brought to his door with the food and notes she left. Surely she must have wondered. 

Maybe she would like to watch, before joining in. She could tell him how to move, how to show himself off in the prettiest of positions, then step forward to take him in front of the camera. He could make her feel so good. Take her clothes off slowly, sit on his knees and worship her body. Lay her down and spread her wide. 

The white sheets he used to cover the furniture would contrast beautifully with the blood. The art left behind by the cast-off from his knife--

Will shook himself out of his thoughts. Cold coffee splashed over his hand, onto his lap, as he pushed himself away from the table. His hand shook as he settled the mug back onto the table. The cereal was a soggy lump in the middle of the bowl, milk and grains undifferentiated in the room-temperature mess. There was a smell in the air of sour milk, unwashed skin. Cloudy-gray light peered between the bars covering the kitchen windows. An animal howled outside.

He needed a shower.


End file.
